


And a Happy New Year.

by TheUncreativeBox



Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:54:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27439894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheUncreativeBox/pseuds/TheUncreativeBox
Summary: A phone call on the last New Year's before things went bad.
Relationships: Julia Ortega/Sidestep, Ortega/Sidestep (Fallen Hero)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 25





	And a Happy New Year.

**Author's Note:**

> Featured Sidestep; Tobias Avery.

Just wait until the first few minutes pass.

It’s not that hard.

A few minutes.

Fireworks burst in the distance, the room itself is dark until the lights shower it again. He wanted to make sure he could see the glittery explosions as they paint themselves between the existing bed of stars.

Too bad he's staring at his phone instead. Julia’s number.

Really, she's probably busy. Too busy. Partying, slow dancing, having a champagne drink with someone with a prettier smile and a more graceful form. Not that it’s really hard to accomplish, Ortega has always been the dancer between them, every muscle move calculated in her own chaotic way.

He pays too much attention. Enough to notice the look in her eye as she does the math on the risk, a split second between thrown punches. Fluid, like water, from one to the next, her momentum deciding for her. Falling where it feels natural, a turn and a twist and the hem of her non-existent skirt arching in same curve as her leg into a kick—

Julia Ortega is a dancer. A performer where he plays the audience. 

Filling the gaps she leaves in the field is easier. He knows her moves, he can tap in where she taps out, a follow up punch or a distraction where he can't be the former. A needle seeding itself in the opponent’s brain, waiting for the right moment to tap through the cortex. One wrong step leading to the drop of the red curtain.

Not an audience. 

He's her camera, her frame. The director, setting up the stage and all she has to do is play into the strengths he expects her to. 

And she does. Not because Julia Ortega is predictable, but because she treats him like the partner he wasn’t made to be. Because she knows him better than he’d like her to.

Probably shouldn’t call at all. No point. Julia will be busy and because she’ll be busy, he’ll be bothering.

Should just put the phone down and enjoy the fireworks. Little sparks. A pleasant distraction. Make him feel a little more alive for getting to witness them. 

It’s not like he doesn’t want to be happy for her, anyway. She just doesn’t need him adding guilt to her plate is all. Who calls in the middle of the night on New Year’s to beg for attention?  
Not attention. Some reassurance that part of her is still thinking about him. 

Jealousy is an ugly feeling. Makes him an uglier person.

He can’t bring himself to stuff the phone back in his pocket, instead placing it face-down against the open windowsill. The breeze warm by early January standards, but the cardigan he’s stuffed himself into is paying off. His own sigh is the only other noise inside the apartment.

Empty. Gaze nailed to the sky, unblinking. Not thinking about the unoccupied couch, or the empty sink, or the five remaining beer bottles in his fridge, destined to stay unopened for the near future. Biting the inside of his mouth because there’s no one there to tell him to stop.

It’s an accident to let his eyes fall on his phone again. 

Accident. Strong word. If he truly didn’t the reminder, it’d be out of sight.

Already staring at it for too long by the time it rings, he can’t really hear fireworks anym—

Wait.

His phone is ringing.

With Julia’s ringtone.

Oh.

Oh, no.

The speed at which he fumbles to pick it up is impressive. The speed at which he drops it with a thud even more. Now, the speed with which he falls on all fours to search for it and pick it up before—

“Tobias!”

“Hello?!” He sounds out of breath. He is. The screen is cracked. Fuck. 

He’ll worry about it later.

“Happy New Year!” He can hear the chatter of people behind her. No clinking of glasses, no laughter, simply noise.

He pictures her in her own quiet corner, tucked behind a curtain. Heels in hand, index circling the port on her chest the way she sometimes does.

Did she sneak away just to talk to him?

“Happy New Year.” A pause as he tries to swallow the dryness in his throat. “Is that why you called?”

“Well, for that, and to tell you how ungodly boring the gala is.”

“Oh?” There's a smile that finds itself on his face before he can object to it. Sitting himself up against the wall, knees to his chest and indulging the pull on his cheeks.

“If another middle-aged man hits on me, you might hear about it in the news tomorrow.”

“Ah yes, still never dating your age.”

“Har, har,” she mocks, but he can hear her smiling too. “I’d make an excellent sugar mama, for your information.”

“If that’s an offer, by all means do pay my rent.”

“Your dirty talk truly thrills me, how are you still single again?”

“Maybe I just don’t go to enough events with middle-aged men.”

The silence is comfortable as always. Comforting in some ways. Nearly enough to run up her phone bill for the sake of letting it linger for a few more moments. 

“Where’s Chen?” His voice a clear note where her hum falls warmer.

Tired.

“Chen left the second I finished my speech.”

“Stuck alone?” Softer.

“Always a crowd,” she muses, “none of it good company.” He can hear the nervous shift on the other end of the line. It’s brief, but he knows to listen out for it. “Do you think maybe we could still… I don’t know, find you a suit in the next ten minutes?”

He almost considers it. The hypothetical of it, of not having to be afraid of the cameras, before he rejects it the same way he always does. Fantasy is always more appealing than reality. “You know I don’t like parties.”

“I know,” she sighs, sounding every bit as disappointed in his answer as he does. “These things just get so boring...”

“Which is why I don't go to them,” he lies. Pulling the mask back on, piece at a time. Looks more palatable in it than he would in any suit.

“Well,” her voice short of a whine only befitting of the Marshal. “They’re more boring without you.”

Can she feel his frown?

“I know, I know.” Ah, that’s a yes then. “No parties…” 

The unmistakable echo of her bare steps comes through the phone. “Maybe,” her voice dangerously perks up, “next year we can just do something quiet. Private.”

Pause. “Private how?”

“Just the team.” Oh. Good. “Make it a pot-luck, how’s that for an idea?”

“As if you could say no to a party.”

“Hey, it’s still a party! Just with fewer, more interesting, sexier guests.”

He sighs, resting his head against the wall. Maybe... He’d like that. Maybe. He doesn’t like the idea of liking nearly as much. “We can discuss this another time.”

“Is that a yes?” Wearing that wicked grin that makes her voice go up half an octave. 

“It’s a maybe.”

“So a yes in disguise.”

A roll of his eyes. Voice too mellow to match. “Go back to your party. The longer you’re gone, the more bullshit the tabloids come up with.”

“Sure.” Another smile. Seeded even deeper in her voice than the last, softer too. Making his shoulders relax in a way he doesn’t intend for them to.

“Call me if something happens, okay?”

“I’ll make sure to send you pictures if I do end up giving someone a black eye.” Imagining sparkles in her eyes to match her dress. 

“Uhuh,” bemused to match the smug satisfaction she speaks with.

“And, hey?”

Hesitating. “Yeah?”

“Happy New Year.”

Another pop in the distance, marking a second round of fireworks. Background noise to her voice. “Happy New Year.”

\--

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, if you enjoyed it please consider leaving a kudos or a comment. <3
> 
> You can also find this fic from me on tumblr under the handle theuncreativebox.


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